Page 147 of Storm Caller

Mowry shifts in his seat, and I want to tell the others to untie him.

“At first, I refused. The idea of starting my research again brought up too many painful memories. I also couldn’t bear the thought of facing Nyxia. I’d betrayed her, but she’d betrayed me, too. The mysterious visitor, who turned out to be Chancellor Marks, assured me she had no idea what was happening and that I’d never have to see her.”

His head drops, and he inhales several times before he looks back up.

“So I agreed. Marks snuck me into the city and set me up with a place to live and then showed me the lab. But what he failed to tell me is that I would never be leaving New Manhattan again. He threatened my daughter and her family. My grandchildren. Told me he’d hurt them all if I ever revealed what I was up to.

“The assistance he promised never came. I was expected to figure out everything on my own. My life became my work. My entire existence. It took some time to sort through what had already been done, and I was not at all surprised to discover some of my old notes from decades earlier. It was then I learned that they’d taken everything from Nyxia when she returned, and maybe a small part of me felt vindicated by that.

“At first, it was slow going. I had to piece together so much information. For years, I’ve worked around the clock, doing what they asked of me.”

“Is it only Marks?” Ada asks, leaning in. I can tell she’s absorbing every word.

“No. Orsen knows everything, too.”

As Dr. Mowry speaks, I’m having trouble taking it all in.

This is what’s been going on? How could the chancellors be so cruel?

“I know my days are numbered,” Dr. Mowry continues. “Once they’re finished with me, I will be disposed of. Do you see why I must get out of here before it’s too late?”

“And?” Henry asks, brushing his question aside. “Is there a cure?”

Dr. Mowry swallows thickly. “In essence, yes,” he answers, and that information falls over the room with the weight of a thousand questions and possibilities. “I’ve been provided with numerous test subjects. Some people don’t respond, even with multiple doses, but the cure’s efficacy appears to be about fifty percent. Early tests indicate that brain patterns return to normal after a few weeks of regular doses. My task now has been to find a way to increase the performance of the drug, but it’s difficult when I have no help.”

We all fall silent, sitting with the implications of everything he’s just revealed. There’s a cure. And it works for at least half the population.

This would change everything.

I think about the cost of it all. How many lives have been ruined? How many people have died? How many people might have been saved had General Sol never destroyed the initial research?

“So you really are a prisoner,” Ada says, though I sense some skepticism in her voice. “We had no idea.”

Dr. Mowry tries to shrug, but his bound hands make the movement difficult.

“Untie him,” I whisper. “You have to untie him.”

Someone jumps up to loosen his restraints, but Ada holds out a hand.

“Not so fast,” she says before addressing the doctor. “Can you get us the information about your research?”

“Oh no,” he says, shaking his head. “Those computers are locked with timed passcodes, only accessible with someone from The Shield present.”

“Edward?” Henry asks. “Is that something you handle?”

“I’d have to do some digging,” he answers with a shrug.

“You must get me out of here,” Dr. Mowry says, his body trembling. “If they discover what I’ve told you, I’m dead. Please.”

I glance around the room, but no one appears moved by his words.

“Are we getting him out?” I ask, tentative.

“Not until we get our hands on that research,” Henry says.

“What!” Mowry says. “But I told you what I know! You said you’d help me leave!”

Henry turns to him. “We said we’d do our best, but first we need that information.”